


A Past in Two Days

by whitedatura



Series: Future, Past, Present [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Avalon - Freeform, Canon Era, Fix-It, M/M, Spoilers for 5x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitedatura/pseuds/whitedatura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/608047">A Future in Three Days</a>. Arthur is given a choice in Avalon, but there is only one answer.<br/>(Post 5x13. A brief fix-it, no reincarnation required.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Past in Two Days

**Author's Note:**

> A bit more of my no reincarnation required fix-it since I can't stop thinking about 5x13. Despite the title, this is not an enumerated rehashing of all of Merlin's deeds.
> 
> Also I would like to thank everyone who read A Future in Three Days for giving my first Merlin fic a chance. :)

The pain is a useful focal point when Arthur can't bear to think of Merlin any longer, even though Merlin is never more than a horse's length away. The things Merlin must have done, unasked, unrewarded, unspoken. The things Merlin does, right in front of him, stern and unapologetic as Morgana breathes her last. The pain is as constant as Merlin's unwavering devotion.

He wonders if any of this would have come to pass if Merlin had been a little less insolent, a little more cautious. It doesn't matter. It is done. Merlin has always been Merlin.

Guinevere is a dim thought, not lightly dismissed, but there is only so much room for hurt in his heart, mind, and body. She is strong, and she will lead Camelot well. His knights -- his brothers -- will not let her fail, will not let Camelot fall. It will endure, and his people will be safe. 

He has a fleeting thought to ask that Merlin watch over his kingdom, but does not waste his breath.

Arthur is dying. He can feel it. He wants -- he wants a lot of things. To live, to live with Merlin as he is, as Arthur now knows him. What he does not want is to cause Merlin more pain, so Arthur does not let the word love cross his lips, and he does not let his lips touch Merlin's. The last thing he sees is Merlin's face, familiar and beloved, unbearably sad.

Everything is brightly shrouded in mist when Arthur opens his eyes again. There is a woman looking down at him.

"Mother?" Arthur asks, as it is Ygraine who has appeared before him.

"No," the woman says, "I have but assumed her form as a comfort to you. There is another I could choose, but I feel it would not provide the peace I intend."

Arthur knows without asking who the other is and is grateful. He does not wish to see a false Merlin in death.

"Come, Arthur Pendragon, the world is not yet done with you."

He is compelled to follow her, rising from where he's been laid out on the grass. Through the mist he can see the prow of a small boat, but nothing past. "Isn't it? I'm dead, aren't I?"

"In a way," says a new voice. "This is Avalon; it is beyond such things." A second woman joins the image of his mother, brown-haired and brown-eyed, kind. "He did not bring you here in vain."

Where there should be a sharp pang of loss there is nothing, as if these women have cocooned him against such grief, here in this land beyond death, but its absence is worse. Nothing associated with Merlin should be subdued in this way. "I am not by his side; he is not by mine. I do not count it as a success."

"That is the question we will put to you, Arthur Pendragon. Come."

They lead him to a shallow pool, water glinting without the aid of sunlight. At the bottom he can see Excalibur laid to rest.

"Watch," they say.

Images form on the surface of the pool. He has no way to know how long he stands, how long he watches things he had only come to realize in his last days with Merlin made plain and true. He sees the brown-haired woman and knows her now as Freya. He sees Merlin, always Merlin. It changes nothing in his heart, but he assumes he is meant to humor these women of Avalon and does not move his gaze away until he can see Excalibur again.

The last thing the water shows him is Merlin on the shore of a misty lake, motionless.

"Now that you have seen these things, you have a choice," says Freya.

"In many centuries you are to return unto the world as a king, a leader of men," his mother says, "but if you so choose, you may return now as nothing more than a man. If you accept Emrys and all that he has done, you shall not be parted from him again until the end of your future reign, as all things must end."

Somehow Arthur instinctively knows that he is not to return to Camelot, but this thought does not pain him as he might have thought. It feels right that his time there has come to a close, that it passes into hands that are not his own.

"Your fate as the Once and Future King is determined, no matter your choice. If you stay, you will dwell here in Avalon until the needs of the world call you from your rest."

Rest. He has been in motion his whole life, responsibilities and expectations laid across his shoulders like a yoke as he pulled ever onward, always sure enough in his purpose to continue. But for the last ten years he has not pulled alone; Merlin has borne the burden with him, for all that Arthur did not see. They are tied.

Something tugs within his heart. It is warm and familiar but also grief-stricken and full of mourning. Since his arrival he has not known pain; now he aches.

They say he has a choice; Arthur knows he does not.

"I would go back," he says, "and be a man."

"I thought you would say that," says a third voice. He turns and sees Morgana, cloaked in serenity, a knowing smile on her lips. She is as beautiful as she once was, as he remembers from his father's court, but she is different. Avalon has indeed brought her peace. 

Arthur looks down at himself and finds that he is no longer in the raiment of a knight, but in a plain tunic and breeches. He casts his gaze back at the pool where Excalibur rests, palm itching for the weight of the weapon Merlin had forged for him, but as he knows he will never enter Camelot again, he knows the time has not come for him to wield the sword again. 

The three women join hands, Ygraine as the bridge. They guide him through the mist to the boat, his feet bare on the dewy grass. He leaves no prints on the sandy shore.

Arms outstretched, eyes golden, they send him across the lake. He does not know how long the crossing takes, he only knows he must follow the ache in his heart to its source until it is no more.

**Author's Note:**

> I suspect I will not be able to resist writing a little more in this tiny verse, even though I didn't really intend for these short fics to happen in the first place.


End file.
